


Floral

by Shanachii



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Day 1, Language of Flowers, M/M, Regency Romance, Victuuri Week, Victuuri Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 05:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13540881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shanachii/pseuds/Shanachii
Summary: “Thank you for inviting us into your home, Mr. Nikiforov.”“You’re most welcome in my home any time, Mr. Katsuki,” Victor grinned as he answered the young man, watching his eyes shift and cheeks blush a pretty pink. “I’m afraid this is only a temporary residence, however. We have that in common.”“And where are you from, Mr.Nikiforov?” Yuuko chimed in.“Russia.”“We came here from Japan,” the other man, Mr. Nishigori added, voice loud and eager and bright.Victor turned back to Katsuki with this new information. “If everyone in Japan is as handsome as Mr. Katsuki here I must make a point of visiting.”Regency Era Romance for Victuuri Week





	Floral

Victor Nikiforov had been witness to many pretty things in his 27 years: sunlight bouncing off the tips of icebergs, still waters reflecting starlight like a mirror. The tulle frills beneath a lady’s skirts, the soft skin of thigh beneath a gentleman’s breeches. Victor fancied these little treasures; they were novel, rare, exciting. Around him was a world that covered tables in cloth for fear that chair legs might be too raunchy. It was only fitting, then, that Victor spend a little time teasing the general populace when he could.

He found himself in London for the social season. Victor would usually never have considered participating in so drab an activity as watching the english marriage market take its toll on anxious, repressed youth but Christophe Giacometti had insisted he make an appearance.

“I’m to chaperone my sister,” Mr. Giacometti had said, bemoaning his bleak circumstance. “I do love my darling little sister, but you must understand: I’ll fatigue quickly without amusement. You simply must accompany us; make the whole affair less dull.”

That was the task Victor was set to. It was a goal he - the mischievous travelling heir to a vast Russian fortune - was more than motivated to accomplish.

Victor had set about preparing his family’s dusty London property as soon as he’d set foot on the isle. Christophe had originally planned to rent out quaint apartments at the heart of the city but Victor had insisted they stay with him. It would not be proper for him, as a member of Giacometti’s entourage, to be apart from the duo. Little Miss Giacometti had been thrilled with their lodgings. She took well to command, ordering the servants about to ready the house per Victor’s specification.

“What a wonderful Captain you’d make!” Victor had praised her. “I dearly hope to never meet you on the field of battle.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the girl had tittered. “We both know you’re not a fighting man, Mr. Nikiforov.”

The days had stretched on into weeks. The three took their meals together, lounged about the property during the day, attended the most fashionable of parties and balls at night. The Miss took to schedule well. She was a charmer, like he brother; men queued to have a even a momentary exchange with her. She was popular among the girls her age as well, acquiring several invitations for afternoon tea from her peers. Perhaps, this wide array of new acquaintances is what had prompted her request:

“Might we hold a ball, Mr. Nikiforov?” She’d asked, her eyes wide like a fawn.

Victor had contemplated the idea, too deep in his thoughts to hear as Christophe protested the perceived imposition. It was an interesting thought, to be sure. Fun could be had at a function not hosted by elderly couples or a family flaunting wealth. It was not at all unaligned with Victor’s goal either: to ‘make the whole affair less dull.’ There were other considerations to be had, however. “Who do you imagine would be in attendance?”

“The young ladies I’ve befriended with their chaperone’s, of course!” She exclaimed, eye’s twinkling. “And a handful of gentlemen I’d like very much to be better acquainted with.”

“Do you hear this, Christophe?” Victor called from his place on a sofa to his friend, sitting across the room in the arm chair. “Your sweet little sister would like me to stock a hunting ground for her. Do you approve?”

“I disapprove less of her intentions towards these boys than her than I do of her theft of your home,” Christophe replied. “We are your guests. Don’t let obligation tie you in one of the girl’s schemes.”

“Nonsense,” Victor turned back to the youngest sibling and smiled his most accommodating smile, much to the lady’s delight. “Send out the invitations, little one. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

* * *

Referring to Victor’s arrangements as necessary was a stretch of the imagination. The basic essential elements were prepared to the best of the staff’s ability: candles were set and lit, food made and placed on trays about the dining room and parlour, musicians arrived and tuned. What was not required, but Mr. Nikiforov demanded, were the extra touches. Pastries were baked in the shape of flowers - blossoms, tulips, vanilla, all the most suggestive of plants - and tables were covered in black lace. How scandalized the guests were when they say the slender, carved legs wrapped in patterns more fitting for a lady’s stockling than a slab of wood.

“How provocative!” Christophe noted. “Your visitors must be scandalized.”

“Quite,” Victor answered, eyes scanning the parlour for whatever interesting reactions he could find.

Miss Giacometti stood in a corner, arm-in-arm with a young woman who whispered in her ear about the men passing by to speak with them. By a table containing the assortment of floral cakes was a group of girls giggling over the pastries, watching slyly as an older gentleman gaped and flushed at the treats. What was most interesting, however, was a close knit party of three at the centre of the room. Foreign, Victor noticed, much like himself. Two gentlemen watched on in horror as their female acquaintance lifted her skirt ever so slightly, comparing the lace covering of her ankle to the leg of a tabe.

“Miss Abe!” One of the men addressed her, startled by the lady’s actions. “Please!”

Before his good judgement could stop him, Victor was crossing the floor, approaching the trio as the woman called Abe turned her foot, allowing her ankle to be better seen by her audience.

“Sir,” she beckoned Victor to watch her little show before he’d had the chance to introduce himself. “Don’t you find the lace quite remarkable? It’s more intricate than even my stockings and I paid quite a bit for them.”

“I am glad you like my decorating taste, Miss,” he smiled, reaching out a hand to the woman. She let her skirt drop, her ankle properly hidden much to the relief of her friends. Victor held her small hand in his own, leaning down to place a kiss on the knuckle before finally submitting his name to the strangers. “My name is Victor Nikiforov, your host for the evening. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Miss Yuuko Abe,” the lady answered in kind before gesturing to the flustered men at her side. “These are the good Mr. Yuuri Katsuki and Mr. Takeshi Nishigori. I’m here visiting them while they study medicine.”

“Students!” Victor perked at the thought. It was not often you came across intellectuals from abroad. “You must be attending Oxford, yes?” It was the only school that came to mind when he thought of London.

“Yes,” the flustered one with big brown eyes and short black answered. Katsuki. Yuuri Katsuki. What a darling name, Victor thought. He was of sturdy build and clear complexion. The curve of his waist and slope of his shoulders softened the sharp features of his face. A strong brow and inquisitive eyes made Victor sure that Katsuki had a sharp tongue to match his visage. “Thank you for inviting us into your home, Mr. Nikiforov.”

“You’re most welcome in my home any time, Mr. Katsuki,” Victor grinned as he answered the young man, watching his eyes shift and cheeks blush a pretty pink. “I’m afraid this is only a temporary residence, however. We have that in common.”

“And where are you from, Mr.Nikiforov?” Yuuko chimed in.

“Russia.”

“We came here from Japan,” the other man, Mr. Nishigori added, voice loud and eager and bright.

Victor turned back to Katsuki with this new information. “If everyone in Japan is as handsome as Mr. Katsuki here I must make a point of visiting.”

Nishigori cleared his throat clearly more surprised by the line than even Mr. Katsuki, who blinked like a lost lamb in the sights of a wolf.

“Oh, Takashi!” Yuuko laughed, grabbing her friend by the arm. “Come with me to pay Lisa Giacometti a visit! We must thank her for our invitation as well, don’t you think?”

“O-of course!”

Yuuko, clearly a woman with her wits about her, lead her one friend away, leaving Yuuri and Victor to continue their conversation. Yuuri did not speak a word, only looking down at his feet and flattening the tail of his coat. He was a nervous fidgeter.

“Did Miss Giacometti extend the invitation to Miss Abe or yourself?” Victor inquired, stepping closer.

Yuuri straightened his back and looked up at his host through thick, fluttering lashes. The effect was stronger than one might expect. Lit by candles even dry eyes looked moist, his smooth skin glowed, his jet black hair looked honey brown in some places. “Why is that of such interest to you, sir?”

“If she invited you then you’re a potential suitor and I my chances with you are slim,” Victor explained, watching his mark chuckle at this plain proclamation. It was a risky game Victor played; one uninterested, offended party could easily declare him a degenerate if he was too frank in his pursuit. That would do little to Victor though since he was constantly taking turns about Europe.

“She invited Yuuko,” Yuuri smiled, voice unwavering, more sure of himself now. “Yet your chances remain just as slim as if I had my eye on the young lady.”

“You object to the company of men, I take it?”

“No,” Yuuri let his smile grow wider, brighter as he turned to follow after his companions. “Just the company of eager men like you.”

* * *

Victor sent several flowers to the London apartments shared by Mr. Nishigori and Mr. Katsuki over the following days. Yuuko Abe had been kind enough to give him their mailing address upon request. Tulips, vanilla and blossom bouquets made up his first few deliveries. He moved onto flowers more subtly phallic after that: peony daisies and arum lilies. Each gift was accompanied by a tiny note signed by “Your Eager Admirer.” He presumed a man as quick as Yuuri would understand.

“You like the man,” Christophe teased when the two of them went strolling through the shopping district of the city. Victor had his heart set on looking for a handkerchief set for the object of his affections; something soft coloured and perfumed would suit him well. “I’ve never seen you quite so keen on someone.”

“He’s not just someone,” Victor insisted. “He was handsome, quick-witted, an intellectual and...and…”

“Unattainable,” Christophe filled in the blanks for his lust-blinded friend. “Why pursue him when you’ll only tire of the man when your hunt is over.”

“I will not!” Victor bristled beneath the accusation, hand gripping his walking stick that little bit too tightly.

“You will!” Christophe doubled down on his assertion.

Victor disagreed. He disagreed all the way home. He disagreed over supper, over tea after supper. He disagreed as Christophe and him sat down for breakfast the next morning and disagreed to the wall when he was left alone in the parlour that afternoon. He simply could not bear it. He was an honest man, he liked to think. When his affections were flighty he would say so. They were not flighty now; they couldn't be.

Victor was about to slip his over coat on and arrange for another bouquet to be sent when a knock came at the door. No doubt someone had come calling for one of the Giacometti siblings. They had both left that morning to take a walk around the gardens. Victor had decided his time was better spent in door pining. All the same he waited, sitting on his sofa, straightening his waistcoat to appear somewhat presentable. A murmur was exchanged between the caller and his staff before the withered butler stepped into the room.

“Excuse me, sir,” the man bowed, smiling politely to his employer. “There’s a Mr. Katsuki here to see you.”

“Katsuki?!” He exclaimed, far too loudly. Surely the gentleman of interest was in the foyer laughing at the sound of so  _eager_ a suitor. Victor flushed, crossing his legs and assuring the butler in a calmer demeanor that his caller was are to allow inside.

Mr. Katsuki entered the parlour not long after, hair undone and allowed to form in natural waves circling his head. He wore cream coloured breeches and a light brown overcoat that was typical for the warm summer weather. Victor rose from his seat and gave a small bow as Yuuri stepped forward before gesturing vaguely to the seats around the room.

“No, but thank you, Mr. Nikiforov,” Katsuki nodded amicably. “I won’t be staying long.”

Victor looked down to the arms of his guest. Yuuri Katsuki cradled a potted arrangement of lush green grass in his arms. Victor blinked as Yuuri approached his parlour’s side table and placed it there.

“A gift,” Yuuri declared, grinning ear-to-ear. “For your generosity, sir.”

With that, Katsuki’s purpose was apparently fulfilled. He bid his surprised host goodbye before heading out, leaving Victor completely and utterly confused.

* * *

“Is it metaphorical?” Lisa Giacometti asked, staring at the potted grass. Victor, Christophe and the younger Miss Giacometti had gathered around the plant that evening, guessing at what it could mean.

“Perhaps it’s medicinal,” Chris offered. “He’s a student of medicine, isn’t that what Yuuko said?”

“If it is medicinal does the man think me ill?”

“Wait!” The young miss cheered, spotting the corner of a white card within the thick of the plant. “He’s written something!”

Victor was handed the note with care. His eyes took in the delicate script with affection as he read aloud:

_“A man of twenty years_

_Wolves with flowers in their jaws_

_His hand was soon lost”_

“What does that mean?” Christophe scoffed.

“Isn’t it obvious?” His sister squealed. “He writes like a maid whose innocence was stolen! Clearly he fears Victor is another wolf.”

“Grown men are not so delicate,” Chris laughed.

But they were; they always had been. Victor had learned that truth long ago. He’d held tears in his eyes as his Vanya sailed away, a man he’d fancied himself I love with once. He’d wept all the same years later when his darling Anya had chosen to wed another.

“A man like you could never be fit for a marriage bed,” she’d said the last time he’d seen her.

Victor knew the wolves of which Yuuri spoke. He felt crushed beneath the weight that years of guarding his heart with pleasurable whims had sharpened his teeth. He had smiled at Yuuri that night in his parlour and his fangs had been shown. But Victor would never bite, not a hand like Yuuri’s. “I’ll send him roses tomorrow.”

“What an innocent flower,” Chris jested. “No more innuendo.”

Victor had not answered. He only gather the pot and not in his hands and took it to his bedside. A reminder. Besides, the grass had a nice, clean scent.

* * *

Another token with its own note came in reply to Victor bundle of red roses.

_“Eager men like you_

_One night and they seem to know_

_That I am not enough”_

* * *

Victor redoubled his efforts, sending a letter with his next token. A letter expressing his gratitude for the fern Yuuri had sent with his newest poem. He also bought an assortment of pastries from a quiet little shop in the shopping district.

“I’d love to take you there sometime soon,” he wrote. “Perhaps Saturday afternoon?”

He received no reply.

* * *

A week went by with no news from Yuuri Katsuki. Victor was beside himself with worry: had he said, had he done, had he been something so offensive to the young man? He felt empty with the absence of plain green plants and cryptic love poems to spend his time analyzing over the last seven days. Then finally, with little warning, something new arrived. Morning Glories were left with his staff while Victor was out, much to their employer’s chagrin. Had Yuuri stopped by? Had he missed him? Victor wasted no time searching the flowers for yet another poem:

_“I guard the garden_

_For tomorrow I’ll be gone_

_Oxford: 8 to 9”_

* * *

The Oxford Botanical Gardens were an impressive place. Plants both imported and native were nursed to full bloom in the accommodating summer climate. Victor didn’t care for the pastels of flowers, however. The willows branching out above his head, the ivy twisting over stone walls at his back. There was only one sight to be seen tonight in all of London, all of England, all the world: Yuuri Katsuki.

He stood hidden beneath a stone archway, ivy climbing up the structure and reaching up above him. He was beautiful, even hidden away in the shadows. His face was sharper, more solemn in the dark. It was a sorrowful sight but not unpleasant. The sight of his admired could never be that.

“Mr. Katsuki,” Victor announced himself, approaching careful as Yuuri stood from his leaning position against the wall.

“Victor,” he liked the sound of his name in Yuuri’s voice. It sounded like a language all it own, one shared by just the two of them. “Just Yuuri is fine, Victor. Won’t you come join me?”

Victor nearly stumbled over his feet to stand by the man’s side. Yuuri was not a fragile sight by any means yet Victor still felt the need to pull him close, to guard his heart from whatever ills made him so sad.

“My father’s sick, Victor, very sick,” Yuuri said, no small talk needed as he looked off into the distance of the starry sky ahead. “I’m to depart tomorrow so that I can return to Japan and finish by studies under him. Then I’ll take over my family’s practice in Kyushu.”

“I...I understand.”

Silence tore through the two, heavy and leaden in their chests. So much was unsaid, undone. A month of courtship, as sparse as it was, did not feel like enough. Not with the gaping holes left in the men’s chests.

“I’m weak,” Yuuri went on, words chosen less carefully now. “I’m weak enough to have fallen for another wolf’s trap. But you seem kind, Victor. If we could pretend this was real and that we’re together and safe and loved I-”

The kiss Victor pressed to Yuuri’s parted lips was not passion filled or lusty. He did not grab at Yuuri’s waist or topple him or push him rough against the stone wall. He simply kissed, slow, gently. His top lip, his bottom lip, his top again. Like petals brushing softly against each other in a cramped country garden, they kissed. Yuuri’s eyes fluttered to a close. His hands stroked Victor’s hair softly. Their arms coiled around each other as naturally as the vines of the garden did. They fit together like pieces of a broken vase. For a moment it was perfect.

“Nishigori is gone for the night,” Yuuri whispered as he pulled back for breath. “Please, keep me company tonight?”

Victor paused. His heart thudded in his chest, his cheeks flushed, his lungs threatened to burst within him. “On one condition. I need your address in Japan.”

“Why?” Yuuri asked, still so close that their lips touched as he spoke.

“So I can send you flowers, of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy! Also, I''l be making all kind of other stories for Victuuri Week so feel free to check out my other stories! Feedback is MUCH appreciated.


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